


this is your home now so don't you forget

by Princex_N



Category: Takin' Over the Asylum
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Crying, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 21:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20453960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N
Summary: Fergus has still yet to decide what he thinks of his new roommate.





	this is your home now so don't you forget

**Author's Note:**

> ready eddie radio voice: is anyone listening? is anybody Out There??

Fergus has still yet to decide what he thinks of his new roommate. 

On principle, Fergus doesn't typically like new people. Not until he gets to know them, which doesn't typically happen (and when it does, it takes a devastatingly long time). Fergus is okay with this. Even before his brain went to hell, he'd never been very good with or interested in other people. 

But something about this kid sticks in Fergus's head. 

Fergus is tempted to just say that it's because the kid's annoying and leave it at that. Campbell Bain is a lot of things, but calm hasn't seemed to be one of them yet (excluding the time he'd had a bad reaction to a prescribed drug and wound up practically catatonic until it had worn off, which Fergus doesn't think actually counts). 

He seems perfectly aware of the fact that Fergus has little to no interest in him at all but doesn't seem put off by it in the slightest. In the few weeks that Campbell has been at St. Jude's, Fergus has learned that the easiest route to take when it comes to Campbell is to just sit in place and let him talk in your direction until he gets bored or distracted. Both happen relatively frequently, and up until that moment comes, he doesn't seem at all dismayed by the lack of reaction he gets. As long as Fergus sits still, Campbell is perfectly content to continue talking in his direction for as long as he pleases. 

Yet, Fergus has to admit that annoyance isn't the only thing keeping Campbell in the back of his mind (after all, if that was all it took, then about 90% of the people here would stick in the same way. Thank god they don't). It's still hard to say what causes it.

Maybe it's because he's young. Fergus listens to what Campbell is saying every once in a while, even though he does his best to make sure it doesn't _look_ like it (_Don't let them know what you're thinking and never let the see what you're doing; it's not safe)_. Campbell is only 17 years old, wasn't even high school yet. There are lots of places teenagers get into and lots of places where they should be, but a place like this isn't one of them. He's smart too. When Fergus can decipher what he's saying through the layers of too-loud volume and rapid fire sentences and topic shifts, it's easy to tell. 

Fergus was smart once (he still _is_. Unless you asked any of the doctors or the nurses, of course. Fergus remembers everything he'd learned in university, and everything he'd learned at his job during the time he'd had it before things had fallen apart. He'd gotten tired pretty quickly of everyone acting as if none of it had ever happened in the first place, as if it was just another one of the delusions). He'd had potential, and it had gotten tangled up and lost along the way. Campbell is still young enough to avoid that. 

Though the fact that he's here is already one strike against him. 

(It doesn't really seem fair, does it? Fergus had been 24 when his brain had started coming apart at the seams. Arguably still young, but he'd been done with high school by then, had already gotten himself through college and had found a place in the work force for a while too. Not nearly as many experiences as he _should_ have gotten, but still more than Campbell. Why is that? Why couldn't _his_ brain have waited until he had lived a little more? It doesn't seem fair.) 

(Things rarely do.) 

At any rate, Fergus is conflicted. Currently more so than usual. 

Campbell is hovering in his peripheral vision, the way he has been for most of the two and a half weeks that he's been here. Today, however, Fergus can see that he's getting agitated. 

Well, it'd be a bit inaccurate to say that Campbell isn't usually agitated in one way or another, but today he seems a bit beyond his scattered and frantic hyperactivity. He seems irritated bordering on angry, and Fergus has no idea what the fuck he's supposed to do about _that_.

(Everyone was quick to label Fergus's silent disposition and minimal attempts at conversation as a symptom of his illness, but fun fact: he'd been like this for most of his life, actually. The only reason he's never argued with their declarations is because he doesn't care to, and because he knows that they probably wouldn't listen to him any more than they do about anything else he tries to tell them.) 

As easy as it might be to just let things lie without addressing them, Fergus is a bit surprised to note that he doesn't really want to. Something in him protests at the idea of letting Campbell fume without asking what's wrong. Fergus has no idea what on earth he could possibly do to _help_, but some part of him is pushing to try anyway. 

So, he checks the room to see if there are any nurses hovering nearby, and then decides to speak. "Are you alright?" he asks, voice low enough that Campbell could choose to ignore him entirely if he wanted to.

There are a lot of reactions that Fergus had anticipated, but he'll admit that Campbell leaping to his feet and snarling in wordless anger had been relatively low on his list of predictions. 

"Of fucking course I'm not," Campbell shouts, prompting several stares and shushes from the other patients. He whirls around on his heel to growl at them, his hands tearing through his hair with a sharp intensity. "This place is the worst, I'm out of my bloody mind, and my parents can't stand to even look at me anymore." 

He's been getting progressively louder the longer he speaks, and Fergus has been subtly putting himself between Campbell and the rest of the room as that time has passed. Fergus seriously doubts that Campbell is going to hurt anyone else; that's not what he's trying to prevent. (Not who he's trying to protect). 

But as quickly as the rage had appeared, it's gone. Whether it's because he'd seen the nurses scrambling through the doorway or because of his own angry admission, Campbell falters, shoulders sagging, one hand still tangled in his mussed hair. His eyes drift over the room, land on Fergus, and then (to Fergus's horror) fill with tears. 

"I think they hate me now," Campbell says, crumpling in on himself. "I'm broken and they hate me for it, and I'd fix it, but I don't know_ how_. My birthday is next week. I don't think I can fix it by then. I don't think they're even going to come see me if I can't." 

The words are strangled and pained, and utterly horrifying. Fergus has been taking it upon himself to vacate the area on the rare occasion that Campbell's father has come to visit, and he would never have talked to the man even if he hadn't. It's been quite a long time since Fergus has hated someone so strongly without ever having met them, but this time Fergus is entirely positive that it's truly deserved. 

Campbell dissolves into further hysterics, and Fergus steps closer because he can already hear the nurses setting into motion behind them. He doesn't know exactly what he's planning on doing or what he hopes to accomplish, but it takes him by surprise when Campbell responds to this by launching himself forward and burying his face against Fergus's shoulder. 

There are arms wrapped tight around Fergus's shoulders and back, and it's been so long since someone else has touched him without the intention to restrain him that Fergus freezes on instinct alone. It's only when Campbell shudders violently and sobs brokenly that Fergus remembers to lift his arms to return the hug properly. 

"I wanna go home," Campbell cries, his voice thin and childish and Fergus's breath turns to ice in his chest. "I wanna go _home_." 

There are hands on the pair of them now, fighting to separate them, and Fergus keeps his face impassive as he tightens his grip on the teenager in his arms. He knows that it'd be too much to ask that they just give them space to get Campbell calmed down. There's no such thing as only getting upset when you're mentally ill, especially when you're mentally ill in a hospital like this; _everything_ is a breakdown or a setback. Why allow anyone to calm down on their own when they can be sedated so much quicker? But Fergus hates it for himself and in this moment, hates it even more for Campbell, who clings back with desperate fervor. 

It's a losing battle, but they try all the same. But someone gets their hand under Campbell's arm and around Fergus's collar (_technically_ low enough to not be a choke-hold but not low enough to quell the panic of being suffocated) and pulls them apart. As soon as Fergus is pulled back, Campbell's anger returns with a vengeance, though he doesn't do anything but snarl and flail his limbs to try and get their hands off of him. It doesn't work. It never does; not unless you're willing to hurt someone, and Campbell doesn't seem to have it in him. 

Fergus is left alone in the chaos as they wrestle Campbell down the hallway, his screams of anger getting fainter with distance before they dissolve into wracking sobs that taper off as he's sedated. Isabel walks back in to ask Fergus if he's alright, if he was hurt. 

Fergus touches his fingertips to the damp patch of fabric on his shirt collar and doesn't say a word. 

Later, when Fergus goes back to their room, his shirt will have dried but the cold feeling in his chest won't have abated. He'll hesitate in the doorway, watching the still and silent form of Campbell tucked beneath the covers on his bed, and will think it strange how unusual it seems. He'd never considered himself to have adjusted to Campbell's presence, but the lack of it rankles him, and something in him protests that Campbell shouldn't look like that, quiet and unmoving, face still tracked with dried tears. 

There will be nothing that Fergus can really do, but he'll settle on his own bed with his back against the wall and his eyes fixed ahead of him. There is (probably) nothing in his hospital that would hurt Campbell, and (theoretically) no need to stand guard against the threat, but Fergus will do it anyway. 

He won't be able to put it into words, but he won't deny that something has changed. Something lit into awareness or fit into place like a puzzle piece Fergus has been trying to slot together for weeks. The specifics won't matter, and the internal conflict that had been hanging around like a cloud won't either. 

But right now, he sits and digs his fingers into his clavicle and tries not to think about the strange tension in his throat or the hot anger under his diaphragm. 

He doesn't have the time for them to pin _him_ down too. 

**Author's Note:**

> alright so my brain hyperfixating on a show that's 25 years old is my burden to bear but i'm still going to be producing content for it like everything is normal i guess
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.princex-n.tumblr.com)


End file.
